Last week when I dropped my cell phone face-down on cement, I picked it up and cringed, then whimpered. The screen was smashed to smithereens. This meant that not only would I have to pay to replace the screen, but I would also be without my beloved cell phone for awhile.
That's when panic set in. For one thing, I didn't have anybody's phone numbers memorized--not even my dad's. Interestingly, I could still recall the time and temperature number I dialed repeatedly as a youth, but all other digits had left my brain.